


Windows to Your Soul

by Wind_Ryder



Series: Non-Stop Gifts/AUs [16]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: 5+1, Bartering, Consensual fighting, Consensual pain-kink, Deals, M/M, Non-consensual photo taking, Photography, relationship drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 06:01:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8238574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wind_Ryder/pseuds/Wind_Ryder
Summary: Five times Lafayette tried to take a picture of John and he threatened to (or did) break his camera, and one time John let him do it.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [writelikeitsgoingoutofstyle (twoandahalfslytherins)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoandahalfslytherins/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Take a Break](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6206908) by [writelikeitsgoingoutofstyle (twoandahalfslytherins)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoandahalfslytherins/pseuds/writelikeitsgoingoutofstyle). 



> A little bit of fun for @writelikeitsgoingoutofstyle. Set between chapters 100-140 of Take a Break or so.

1.

The first time the topic of cameras came up, John had been drunk.  Flopped haphazardly across Lafayette’s right arm at a party.  Mouth dripping drool all over the front of Lafayette’s shirt.  As things go, it wasn’t his most charming, nor his most conscious.  Lafayette had made a comment about pictures and thinking it might be nice to take some.  John’s fairly certain he said something to the effect of “do whatever you want,” though he’s equally certain it could have been “mmmmmhmmmmm…..”

Quite happy to let the topic lie where it was, John fell asleep.  Ignored his boyfriend as he picked John up and carried him to the car to go home.  Ignored whatever gears were turning in Lafayette’s head.  Ignored the plans he likely was plotting way on the other side of the vehicle.  Right now the leather upholstery was cozy and oh.  His toes felt nice right up against the heater.

Okay.

John entirely forgets the event even took place until almost a full week later.  Starfishing on the bed, dozing happily after a long and successful day of doing absolutely nothing productive, Lafayette’s vague mention of a camera had been the last thing on his mind.  In fact, John doesn’t notice anything is strange until he feels a hand on his hip.  Legs slowly straddling his body.  

He grumbles, hands coming in to knock against the knees.  He opens his eyes slowly.  Blinking blearily upward.

_Snap!_

John’s heart leapt to his throat.  Eyes flying open, he yelped.  Hips buck  Hands shove.   Lafayette, leaned over with the camera barely two inches from John’s face, couldn’t balance himself if he tried.  He goes flying.  Sailing across the room and smashing onto the floor.  

John scrambles.  Hands and feet slapping awkwardly against the mattress as he sits up.  “What the _fuck_ are you doing?” he asks, breathing hard as he tries desperately to untangle himself from the vice-like grip of their cozy felt blanket.

“I just wanted to take your picture,” Lafayette pouts.  He’s squinting down at the camera he’d lost in the fall.  Lens cracked, back popped open.  Film exposed to the light.  John’s breathing harder and harder, but now he’s forcing himself to push it into something else.  Emotions slipping from fear to rage in an instant.

Getting out of bed, and without so much as pausing to see if Lafayette was all right, John kicks the camera as hard as he can.  It soars across the room like a pigeon with great purpose.  Smashing into the wall and falling to the ground with a satisfying _thwack._

“Fuck you.” Marching from their bedroom, he goes to _his_ bedroom.  The one he rarely uses.  The one Lafayette’s _lucky_ he provided, or else John would have tried his luck at Aaron, Alex, and James’ house to see how that went instead.

 

2.

Lafayette doesn’t apologize.

Of course he doesn’t.

In fact, if anything, he only makes photography an even more important _passion_ .  John eats breakfast with a _touch_ more ferocity than is entirely necessary the next morning, but he thinks he’s allowed to be bitter and angry.  Particularly when Lafayette says something about setting up a photography studio in the basement.

“The workout stuff’s down there,” John protests weakly.  Lafayette nods sagely.  Slices up another piece of cantaloupe.  

“I am thinking about a red light system.  Surely there must be a way to turn it into a dark room.”  John’s going to kill him.  That’s the only answer for any of this.  He’s going to kill him.  

Gritting his teeth, he pushes up from the table, and walks out of the room.  Doesn’t even offer a ‘have a nice day.’  He has classes to go to and people without cameras to entertain himself with.  Alex has never once tried taking his photo while he slept.  

Alex is _obviously_ his best friend in this scenario.

Still, Lafayette doesn’t set up a dark room immediately in the basement.  He says something about renovations and maybe doing that later, but digital photography being good for now.  Says something else about photoshop and the need for a good system to change the lights.

John stumbles into the basement after one particularly frustrating day, to find lamps set up.  Sheets hanging from the walls.  Backdrops and displays.  Lafayette’s standing in the middle of it all, tongue between his teeth as he looks down at a manual that looks harder to read than Ikea’s.

He looks up at John after a few minutes, and smiles.  “What do you think?”

John doesn’t think his opinion is necessary, nor wanted, at this point.  He turns and walks back upstairs.  “I’m taking a shower.”  It’s quite possibly, the only thing that can block out this level of crazy.  

Tugging his shirt off, he throws it haphazardly in the hamper.  Toes off his sneakers and socks.  Shimmying out of his jeans and boxers as he lets the water heat.  He can still hear Lafayette puttering about.   _Maybe I really should start going for more runs._  Running around could take the edge off if he wanted to.  

Sighing, he steps under the spray and closes his eyes.  Tilts his head up to face the spray.  His curls start elongating.  Straightening into awkward waves the wetter they get.  He rests one hand on the wall, and starts threading his fingers through the curls.  Shaking them free.  Loosening them out.

The bathroom door opens.  Finally.  He put down the damn camera. Dropping his hands, he blinks through the spray.  The curtain’s drawn back and Lafayette’s smiling at him, but he’s got a camera in his hand.  Raising it up.

“Oh _fuck you!”_ John shouts, pulling the curtain closed before the first snap can go off.  

“Mon amour—”

“You either get the fuck out of here with that thing or I’m going to break _it_ too!”

“You are being ridiculous, you just invited me—”

“— _you’ve got ten seconds Laf!”_

He’s out the door before he makes it to eight.  

“Seriously?” John mutters under his breath. “What the fuck?”

 

3.

Lafayette’s given ground rules.  No cameras in the bathroom.  No cameras while John’s asleep.  “You need to ask before you take my fucking photo,” John tells him firmly.  He tries to protest.  “This is _non-negotiable.”_

Frankly, Lafayette's pout could be considered adorable if John had it in him to care one bit.  He doesn’t.  As it turns out.  He really doesn’t.  In fact, he can almost accept that the topic’s dropped.  For weeks Lafayette doesn’t pester him about anything.  Doesn’t try to sneak over to take a photo of John while he’s not looking.  Doesn’t attempt to sneak shots when John’s busy studying.  Doesn’t attempt to ambush John in the shower.

He just lets John exist in peace, and things _do_ settle for a time.  Almost too good to be true.  John’s not nearly ready for it when he gets the mock interview notice from his advisor.  Tallmadge even wincing when he sees it on his desk in class.  Wishing him good luck before continuing with the lesson.

“They’re required, John.” Hercules keeps saying his name at the end of sentences like it’s going to somehow make John feel better.  As if it’s going to make John even the _slightest_ bit inclined to stop sulking.  They’re supposed to be having dinner together.  It’s supposed to be fun.  Relaxing.  Entertaining.  John’s felt none of that at all.  “Everyone’s done them, John.”

“Say my name one more time—”

Peggy clears her throat and holds up her hands.  “What’s the problem?  Exactly?”

“The fuck am I supposed to wear?”

Lafayette, who’d been strangely quiet from the start, suddenly perks up in his seat.  Reaching for his glass of wine and arching a brow.  “If clothing is a problem, mon amour…”

“Clothing isn’t a problem.”  It's the only thing he can think of to say.

Doesn't change the fact that clothing _is_ a problem.

One that Lafayette addresses the moment they get home.  Pulling John to the walk-in closet.  “There, stand there,” and has John wait by a mirror.  Stand patiently as clothes are pulled off rods and held in front of his body.  

It takes almost twenty minutes.  Time that’s offset by the occasional kiss.  Pinch.  Nuzzle behind the ear.  Hair pulled slightly as Lafayette gets John how he wants him.  The fine shirt and suit jacket _do_ actually look nice.  But they remind him of stuffy churches with smoke balls on chains.  Religious chanting. _Back straight.  Chin up.  Smile._

Still.  Lafayette’s hands are nice as they slide around John’s body.  The silk shirt sending warm and cool sensations along his chest.  Lafayette presses against his back.  Bites at his neck.  Heat fills John’s core.  His spine sparks with sensation.  His eyes close.  Lips part as a thumb presses insistently along the corner of his mouth. Tucking in to nudge teeth.  

John’s tongue tastes its tip.  Salt.  “Stay just like that.” Lafayette breathes against his ear.  And suddenly the hands are gone.  Missing.  A shiver goes up John’s spine and his eyes flutter.  Stark contrast suddenly pulling him to an uncomfortable precipice.  

It takes his eyes a moment to focus.  They do, just as his ears register the _click_ of a shutter snapping closed.  

 _Son of a—_ “You take one more picture of me and I’m breaking that _fucking_ camera,” John snaps.  The camera clicks again, and John snaps forward.  Uncaring of the suit, the shirt, the tie that Lafayette looped around his throat so tantalizingly not four minutes ago.  John dives.

Goes for the legs.

He’s going to destroy that fucking camera if it’s the last thing he does.

_God damn Lafayette straight to hell._

  
4.

John’s tired.  Really tired.  Things with Alex have been...rough lately.  And although Lafayette has been good about keeping an endless supply of alcohol in the house with no questions asked, true _rest_ doesn’t seem to happen anymore.  Lafayette’s taken to laying him out.  Massaging his muscles and humming something French that John doesn’t recognize and Lafayette doesn’t explain.

If it puts John to sleep, come morning John’ll try his best to do something nice for his boyfriend.  If it doesn’t...well...he still tries.  Tries being nice to Lafayette a little more than he usually is.  If only to pay the man back.

Even if it means that John’s lying on the mats in their repurposed basement.  Dutifully ignoring Lafayette as he takes picture after picture with his latest camera.  There’s a basket of fruit on a stand and Lafayette keeps testing light and angles.  Making markings on a notepad.  Confirm things as scientifically as possible.  

So long as the lens—or whatever—isn’t aimed in his direction, John doesn’t care what Lafayette’s taking pictures of.  

But soon enough, his boyfriend stops fussing.  Starts looking toward John with that curious expression that even without glancing over, John can _feel_ burning into the side of his head.  “The answer is _no,”_ John reminds shortly.

“Mon amour, I have not even asked you my question yet.”

“Does it involve a camera?” John turns the page of his book.  Lafayette’s quiet for too long for it to be anything else.

But eventually he does come up with a counter offer.  One that has John sputtering as his brain attempts to register what he was saying.  “We should make a sex tape.”

News articles of tragic celebrities and Revenge Porn sites flash across John’s mind.  “No.  Fuck no.  What the fuck are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking we should make a sex tape…” then, as if considering a different approach might be best.  “I could film you and Alex—”

“—Quit while you’re behind.” And besides that, _Alex_ had a boyfriend.  Boy _friends._  Whatever.  “Aaron would kill you.  Kill _us._ I like being _not dead_.”  

“Now you are merely protesting where there is no need to—”

John closes his book with a snap.  Done being friendly.  “You want to lose your camcorder to?”  Lafayette scowls at him.  John’s proven time and time again, he’s more than willing to deal with whatever punishment Lafayette saw fit to bestow upon him for missing or broken cameras.  He’d much rather not have the cameras in the first place.

“You are being unreasonable.”

Ignoring that argument entirely, John marches up the stairs.  “Find a different subject.  It ain’t gonna be me.”

 

5.

It's not a good day.  In fact, John can feel his blood burning in his veins.  His heart beating out a tattoo that refuses to slow.  “You shouldn’t pressure him with shit like that,” John hisses as he glares at Lafayette.  Alex isn’t doing well. Not doing well at all.  And if Lafayette thinks he can just barter with Alex for his camera privilege—

“Not everyone finds it as disagreeable as you, mon amour,” Lafayette reminds without so much as looking his way.  He slides the key into the ignition.  Gets the car going.  Leaving Alex and all that—all the pain and uncertainty that keeps seeming to swim around him far behind.

It’s not fair, and Lafayette knows it’s not fair too.  Knows that it’s an inconvenience.  Knows Alex has problems.  Issues.  That he can’t push.  Can’t be mean.  “You put that thing in his face and make him feel bad—”

“—have I ever intentionally hurt ma petite?” This time, Lafayette does scowl at him.  Irritated, maybe.  But it’s not good enough.  Not a solid enough excuse.  So much could go wrong.

John bites his thumb nail.  Vibrating with nervous energy he can’t control.  He doesn’t know what to do.  Doesn’t know what to say.  It could very well be his own insecurity, but it doesn’t matter in the end.  Alex matters.  “Don’t bring it up,” John orders.  

Their car turns onto the highway heading back to their house.  Lafayette is eerily quiet about it.  Not protesting immediately or arguing.  Taking it as a clear sign to keep going, John presses.  “You don’t bring it up, you don’t pressure him.  If you want him in an outfit you let him change on his own.”

“I am not in need of rules or chastisement, my Laurens.”

“You’ll fucking promise or I’ll break your camera.”  Not that it does much good in the long run.  Lafayette’s endless pool of wealth just means he gets more and more cameras for every one that John destroys.  But it’s the principle of the thing.

Sighing heavily, Lafayette agrees.  “As you wish.”

 _Damn right it is,_ John thinks savagely, crossing his arms over his chest.   _Damn right._

 

+1

 

Perhaps the most annoying part, is that Alex _does_ do the photoshoot.  He does it, and Lafayette displays the photos proudly.  Great big ones, twenty by sixteen.  They hang from the walls in the basement, and John _can_ appreciate it.  Can see how the practice with the lighting looks good.  How Alex seems almost whimsical in the photos.

Determined and hopeful.

He’s climbing some damn tree and looking far too serious the whole time, but it...matches.  It looks nice.  Lafayette’s proud of the pictures.  Wants to be adulated and adored.  Wants the praise for good work that he’s certainly deserved.

But.

But.

This camera thing is never going to end.

John realizes that now.  Realizes it with the same haphazard understanding that comes when you find out that Kevin Spacey really _was_ behind it all in the _Usual Suspects_.  If John opens his mouth and he gives Lafayette praise, it’s going to damn him for all eternity.

And he can’t do that to himself.

Can’t bring himself to go through _all_ of that just for this one moment.  His one chance to stroke Lafayette’s ego a little bit more.  John grimaces.  He needs a plan.  A thorough plan at that.  Needs it so much that he starts putting it all together as quick as he can.

He may not always be Johnny On the Spot, but damn he can try.  “They’re nice,” he tells Lafayette.  Lying thinly through his teeth.  Then, turning, he walks up the stairs and leaves his very disappointed boyfriend far behind.

It takes him a little bit to set everything up.  A few days to plan and organize and make it right.  But when he’s done, he thinks he’s got a fair understanding of it all.  The camera and screens and lights are all where Lafayette would put them.  The shades are drawn.  The set is prepared.  John may not have supported Lafayette, but he _had_ remembered how certain things needed to be.

When Lafayette finds him, sitting amongst the cameras and the lenses, for a moment John thinks his boyfriend might assume it’s all a hallucination.  He actually seems perplexed.  It’s a surprising look for him.  John wishes he could achieve it more often.  

“Here’s the deal,” John tells Lafayette firmly.  “I never want to see this thing in our bedroom or bathroom _ever_ again.”  That, he’d decided early on, was going to be his bottom line no matter what.  “But if you insist on doing this...and if you ask _nicely_ , once a month I’ll let you take _one_ picture.  Not of my face.  Deal?”

Lafayette takes his time in answering.  Eventually, though, he nods.  Takes one step forward.  Then another.  He collects the camera from John’s hands. Tucks a stray lock of John’s hair behind his ear.  When he kisses John, he kisses hard and firm.  Hand cupping the back of John’s head and holding him firmly in place.

Lafayette sets the camera to the side and bites and nips at John’s lip.  Slides his teeth along John’s throat.  Tugs at his shirt roughly, hands gripping at John’s pants.  John’s eyes roll back.  His breath stutters out of him.  He wraps his arms around Lafayette’s shoulders and lets the man lift him.  Pull him up off the stool John had perched himself on, and lay him down flat on the basement floor.

They used to have mats here.  Mats that made everything so much better.  So that when the fights happened they could land soft, and fuck hard.  Lafayette’s hips press hard against John’s.  John’s dick is trapped down a pant leg, trying to rise but pinching.  He shifts.  Wiggles.  Needs to fix himself.  Lafayette does it for him.  Biting at John’s collarbone as he reaches down to adjust him. Grinding in as soon as he’d finished.

It’s slightly filthy.  

But John feels _hot._ Feels as if his temperature is rising faster and faster.  Lafayette knows exactly where to nip.  Where to scratch.  Where to drag his hands, and just _how_ to do so in order to set John’s core aflame.  Lafayette ruts against him hard, fast.  Flips John’s body so his knees dig into the concrete and his back is arched just so. Arms half collapsed beneath him.

One hand is reached out.  Left shoulder sliding down in his socket, his body hunched over it.  Still, Lafayette curls around him.  John hears Lafayette more than sees it.  Can hear the clinking of something on that _damn_ camera.  But it takes seconds.  Just seconds.  No shutter slide.  Lafayette’s left hand wraps around John’s, and his other dips between them.  Popping the button of John’s jeans so he can stroke him.

Fingers tightening around Lafayette’s, John’s eyes close.  He breathes hard.  Teeth bite down hard at his throat. Whiting out his brain.  Nearly silencing the shutter as it snaps whatever picture Lafayette clearly had set up and timed.

John comes embarrassingly fast.  But Lafayette’s teeth barely leave his throat.  Tongue still lavishing his skin.  “Merci, mon amour,” Lafayette breathes against him.

 

The picture, when it’s fully printed, is of their hands held tight against the concrete.  At some point, one of them must have scraped their knuckles.  There’s flecks of blood.  Slightly torn skin.  It’s cast in black and white.  Divots dug deep in the ground.

John likes it.  Finds himself staring at it whenever Lafayette’s not looking.  He really, _really,_ likes it.  Likes how possessive it is.  Likes how his fingers curl under Lafayette’s.  Likes the implication of it.  How it’s a reminder of how the rest of it went.  John rolls his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Mon amour?” Lafayette asks when he catches him staring.

“It’s nice,” John replies.  

He isn’t all that surprised when, this time, his boyfriend beams.

Intentions, in this family, rarely stay secret.


End file.
